


take my hand, take my whole life too

by kirakiraakira13



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Liverpool F.C., M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 13:20:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14874491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirakiraakira13/pseuds/kirakiraakira13
Summary: His mother has left kisses on his forehead several time before, but none of those moments could feel like this, the sensation Mohamed makes him feels, the heat from where his lips touch leaves him aches for more.





	take my hand, take my whole life too

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anemoi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anemoi/gifts).



> No beta I die like men.

_“I clung to your hands so that something human might exist in the chaos.”_

 

_-_

 

Dejan always leans into the fondness of his embrace whenever Mohamed reaches out to hold his face between his palms - rough even when against Dejan's bearded cheeks, he has noticed - and Mohamed would _smile_ , the same sunlit smile that had Dejan fell flatass for him in the first place, before pulling him down to kiss him at that same spot on his forehead, between his brows, carefully and delicatedly as if Dejan was the chosen one to receive his act of benediction.

 

His mother has left kisses on his forehead several time before, but none of those moments could feel like this, the sensation Mohamed makes him feels, the heat from where his lips touch leaves him aches for more. Needless to say, what comes next would always be Dejan happily obliged to whatever the other has in store for him, usually it would be driving him to the coffee shop and waiting fifteen minutes for the fans to finish greeting and cheering on their beloved Egyptian King - sometimes, they would ask for a selfie and his autograph too.

 

He might teases and complains about it later, but Dejan does not mind at all, because once they get inside the car, Mohamed would crack at his jokes even if they are not funny at all, yet he still laughs, and Dejan would finds himself flushed with the warm affection that comes along whenever he hears Mohamed's laughters, knowing that this is something private, only for him, which he secretly holds them close and tucks them neatly in a corner of his heart. 

 

-

 

The bed sheet is white and Dejan has been kneeling there on one leg for five minutes by Mohamed's side, despite the fact that the other has already told him to stand up or his legs would feel numb and he would not be able to run full speed on the second half after. Of course Dejan leaves the words out of his ears because he is stubborn like that, instead, he craddles Mohamed's good hand inside his own and pulls it closer to his chest. 

 

"Dej," Mohamed breathes out, almost like a plea, then grasps a handful of Dejan's shirt, right where the Liverbird stands, where his _heart_ stays; with that, Mohamed draws him forward, bends down just to press his head onto Dejan's. 

 

"Go fight this for me too." 

 

The same smouldering heat burns between his brows as Dejan runs down the pitch to greet Jordan. A familiar prayer rolls smoothly on the tip of his tongue, blends into one with the chanting of blazing red. His promise jarring inside his ears, over and over and over again. 

 

" _I will_."

 

He turns to nod at Virgil and Andy, Loris is right behind them, he knows it, they all are ready. They can do this. 

 

- 

 

Dejan finds himself lying on the grass, fingers spread over his mouth. Broken howl stucks dead inside his throat feels like shattered glasses, his eyes are burning. The incongruous whistle has found its way to strike into his consciousness, Dejan's senses go numb. The colours, the sound of the crowd, his vision blur into grey when Mateo comes to pick him up, the younger's hand on his back seems foreign, mismatched, so do the assumingly words of encouragement he might be telling him right now. 

 

He does not need that. 

 

Nor does this piece of silver dangling around his neck dangerously like a rope, threatens to drag him down. 

 

Nor does the fans singing their anthem aloud and proudly, it makes Dejan feels guilty, as if he has failed them for being unable to not deliver them what they deserve. Which makes this even worse, when he sees Loris raises his hands into the air, then lowers one down to tap over the keeper's chest, asking for forgiveness; Chambo leans over, onto his crutches for support as he cries; their captain standing there like a still statue, his features hardened. 

 

Dejan does not see Virgil until he clasps a hand on his nape, urges him to turn around and go. 

 

-

 

The following events flow over Dejan's mind like a flood of dull informations, he sees to himself not to remember anything too specifically. He did one or two interview, carefully sided himself with Loris since he somehow knows what the young keeper is going through; collected his personal belonging he brought along to the stadium; then here he is, lying on the bed, his gaze sticks on the ceiling. It almost cost him a small knock at the door, but the person knocks at it again, so Dejan pulls himself up and tries to put on the most neutral face as possible. 

 

"Hey," Mohamed stands there awkwardly with a sling, his eyes red.

 

"Hey you," replies Dejan, stepping one step back to let Mohamed in and he watches him go straight to the bed and sit down. 

 

For a moment, Dejan has no idea what should he do, but Mohamed has already decided it for him, because he gestures Dejan to come closer and pats the bed gently like he wants Dejan to sit next to him. Which he does, because Dejan comes anyway and chooses carefully to sit at Mohamed's good side, leaving the bad shoulder undamaged. 

 

"Does it still hurt?" He asks, instead of answer, Mohamed rests his head on Dejan's shoulder. 

 

"Mo?"

 

"If you're feeling sorry, you don't have to. You gave them everything, like you said. You should have left with your head up." 

 

But it was not enough, they have got to go home in silver instead of gold, though Dejan does not say it out loud, he bites down his lips and leans his cheeks on Mohamed's hair. 

 

"But it's okay, we can feel sad, you know." 

 

He brushes his tips over Dejan's knuckles before knitting their fingers together, resting them on Dejan's lap. The room fills with silence but Mohamed's deep and steady breath, which makes Dejan feels calmer, finally, he exhales. 

 

He has wanted it to be this year, with this team, this formation, this atmosphere, _this_. Fairytales aren't always happen, oh but did they hope, even when they turn to each other to convince themselves, "next year will be our year", Dejan just knows. 

 

But he is still here, and Mohamed is still here, the others are still here, certainly they could still create something memorable together. For now, it seems enough.

 

Mohamed gazes at him, wondering, yet he still holds that knowing smile, that cheeky bastard, as Dejan turns to him, holding Mohamed's face between his palms and draws him closer to kiss on his forehead, the same spot, like they have done this since forever and always. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is....my first work in English to ever publicly publish....I know there are flaws and I'm sorry in advance for them.......
> 
> I still hope you all enjoy it anyway, I've tried my best and though it's awkward I'm still very proud of it.


End file.
